


Love and Comfort

by masulevin



Series: Ophelia Cousland, Queen of Ferelden [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Body Worship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:59:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masulevin/pseuds/masulevin
Summary: Alistair always wants to keep his shirt on during sex. Ophelia wants to know why.





	Love and Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Ophelia Cousland isn't the Warden in this story -- that honor goes to Sophie Amell, who's in Amaranthine with Nathaniel during this time. Sophie and Alistair were together during the Blight, but he broke up with her to be king. You know how he is.
> 
> Ophelia and Alistair are in an arranged marriage now, but they do care for each other. [Find out more about her on my tumblr](http://ma-sulevin.tumblr.com/tagged/ophelia-cousland/).

“Can I ask you something?” Ophelia is careful to keep her voice low and neutral as she glances over at her husband, but he stays very still with his eyes closed and his head on his pillow.

“Ye-es?” he asks, drawing the word out enough to make her smile and opening one eye to peer at her in the darkness of their bedroom.

She rolls onto her side to face him, propping her head up on one arm and using the other to trace over the short sleeve of his tunic. He always wears one when they’re together, even when sleeping or performing  _husbandly_ duties.

She’s never been shy about her body – in fact, she loves walking around in front of him completely naked or with her thin robe draped carefully to show him that she’s wearing nothing underneath, just to watch how it drives him wild and breaks down his self-control. Alistair, though…

“Why do you always wear this?” She pinches the soft fabric and tugs a little. His cheeks darken and he glances away. “I’d like to see my husband.”

He clears his throat and rolls onto his side too. He catches her hand and twines their fingers together before kissing her knuckles. She smiles at the gesture but waits to hear his answer. Her chest feels tight – maybe he won’t want to tell her, or maybe he’ll get mad, or maybe…

“I would just… rather keep it on?” Alistair speaks slowly as though choosing each word with careful precision, but Ophelia narrows her eyes at him.

“That’s not an answer,” she says, needling a bit. She pulls her hand free of his and runs her palm over his chest where she knows he’s comfortable being touched. He stops her when she starts to tug on the laces that hold the collar together, even loose as they already are.

She decides to try her words again. “Please, Alistair. You can trust me.”

He squeezes his eyes closed. “I just… I’m not handsome.”

Ophelia catches the laugh that bubbles up in her throat before it can make any noise. “You’re very handsome,” she corrects, but he just shakes his head.

“Not, I mean–” he pauses, grunts in frustration, tries again. “I have scars. I have a  _lot_ of scars. I’m… being king has made me  _soft_.”

Oh her sweet, sweet man. She scoots a little closer to him and cups his jaw with her hand. He opens one eye to peer at her again, and she kisses his nose. It makes him smile at her, but his eyebrows are still drawn together with a little wrinkle between them.

“I have scars too, Alistair,” she murmurs, close enough to him now that their noses are brushing. “You’ve seen them. You’ve  _kissed_ them. Let me do the same for you.” She can see him start to nod, but he still hesitates. “You can trust me, Al.”

Finally, finally he nods. He rolls onto his back and she follows him, cuddling against his side and slipping her hand under the hem of his tunic. His muscles are stiff, his eyes closed again, and she leans in to kiss and then nuzzle his cheek and neck as she lets her hand explore what her eyes have never seen.

His stomach is soft, but she wouldn’t say being king has _made_ him soft. He’s still strong, strong enough to spar when he can escape his duties and strong enough to lift her and carry her around the bedroom when their games turn that way. She bites his ear and scratches blunt nails across his warm skin. He shivers, like she knew he would, and she lets her exploration continue.

Her hand moves from side to side, tickling through sparse hair to find the first of the scars. It’s short but jagged, thicker scar tissue than would have formed if magic had been used to heal it.

Alistair answers her question before she asks. “Arrow. Punctured a weak spot in my armor. Sophie wasn’t a good healer.”

Ophelia hums in acknowledgment and continues. Here, a burn mark from a fireball. There, a deep gash left behind by a sword that nearly took his life. A few deep punctures from a drake that got too close.

She takes the opportunity to tweak his nipples as she passes over them, smiling against his skin when she feels him shiver. She kisses his neck again as she rests her palm over his heart, feeling the steady thumping come faster when her tongue touches his skin.

“Lia,” he breathes, and then he turns to her, rolling them both until he’s between her legs and pressing her into the mattress. She wraps her arms around him, sliding her hands under his shirt to rest on his bare back as their lips meet in a slow, deep kiss.

She slips her hands up, up, higher, finding new scars that he’s too busy to explain. One matches its twin on his stomach – a sword went all the way through him, and she has to drag in a deep breath to keep her eyes from filling with tears. That wouldn’t help him, not now.

When her hands reach his shoulder blades, he pushes himself up to pull the tunic over his head. He lets it fall to the floor and then hesitates, kneeling above her with his sleeping trousers low on his hips, arousal beginning to tent the front.

She reaches for him and he goes to her. She wraps arms and legs around his body to hold him close, feeling the warmth of his skin on hers for the first time. She moans as he kisses her, shifting under him to press her hips up against his.

He kisses her chin, then her throat, tracing his tongue along the tendon that goes to the hollow there. She digs her fingernails into his skin and twists to kiss his cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, and he shudders. He nips at her collarbone when she adds, “I love, ah, I love your skin against mine.” She arches her back to drag her breasts against his chest to prove her point, to show him how much better this is, and he groans deep in his chest.

He reaches between them to pluck at his trouser ties, pushing them down over his hips as soon as he can. He returns to rest between her legs, his cock brushing against her thigh and then between her legs. He groans into her ear when he feels how wet she is, instinctively trying to bury himself inside of her.

She spreads her legs a little more, arching her hips to help him slide against her.

“You’re so strong,” she murmurs, running one hand into his hair as he finally slides home, hilting himself with a harsh exhale against her neck. “You survived so much, and now you’re here, with me.”

She can’t do much more than whisper to him and hang on as he moves, swept away by the way he’s clinging to her. Their nights – and mornings – so far have always been more about the physical than the emotional, and she feels her chest tightening as her cheeks are suddenly damp. She holds him tighter as the sensations swell, little cries pushing their way from her throat as he thrusts into her.

“You’re s-so amazing,” she says, and then arches her back with a louder cry as he hits her just right, finally finding that spot deep inside of her that pushes coherent thought from her mind. “You don’t seem to know it, bu-ut you’re the best ruler Ferelden’s ever ha- _ad._ ”

She pulls at his hair without realizing it and Alistair moans too, the sound muffled as he bites at her shoulder. She’ll have a bruise there tomorrow, but that’s okay. This is more important.

He adjusts his grip on her and hitches one leg up higher on his hip, letting him push deeper into her while still keeping his lips on her.

“I love watching you work,” she continues, pushing past the rising orgasm and the gasps of air and the moans that want to distract her. “I love to see the good you’re doing. I love–”

She scratches at his shoulder and he pushes into her, grinding in so that he brushes against her clit. It pushes her too far and she comes with a silent cry, pulling his hair and clenching so perfectly around him that he can’t hold back for one more second. He fills her with a grunt, spilling deep inside of her with a full-body shiver.

She holds him tight even when he releases her, lets her leg fall to the bed and her shoulder slip from between his teeth. She rubs soothing circles on his back where she’s scratched him, pets the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

His weight is crushing, but she’s not about to tell him that. He nuzzles against her neck for a moment before pulling away, propping himself up on his elbows to look into her eyes.

His face softens when he sees the tears on her cheeks, and he leans down to kiss them away. She smiles and huffs out a laugh, turning away before finally releasing him to wipe her face dry.

“I should have asked you about your shirt earlier,” she says, following him to cuddle against him as he lays on his back. He loops his arm around her and pulls her body tighter against his even as his eyes droop closed and sleep starts to pull him down.

“Mmm,” he says. “I liked that. Sweet.”

She kisses his chest. “Yeah?”

“ ‘m happy I married you,” he adds, conversationally, and falls asleep with a soft snore before he can see the wide smile that brightens Ophelia’s face.


End file.
